


disobedient

by cracktheglasses (cormallen)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Cock Cages, Collars, Crates, Dom/sub, Leashes, M/M, Muzzles, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Punishment, Puppy Play, kinda feelings, sex worker Kylo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 16:39:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8899837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cormallen/pseuds/cracktheglasses
Summary: There's a reason Hux doesn't have a real pet. Why he's hired Kylo to play the role. Calm obedience is not what Hux wants or needs, no matter the instructions he's doled out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this kyluxhardkinks prompt](http://kyluxhardkinks.tumblr.com/post/151681811698/ds-modern-au-hux-is-an-overworked-and-isolated): _D/s modern AU: Hux is an overworked and isolated businessman who advertises for a full time, live-in sub. Enter sex-worker kylo and feelings._ Well, I read that, and decided what Hux really needed was puppy play. 
> 
> Thank you so much to [@kyluxtrashcompactor](http://kyluxtrashcompactor.tumblr.com/) for the title, summary and the help, and [@the-garbage-chute](http://the-garbage-chute.tumblr.com/), [@sinnotalone](http://sinnotalone.tumblr.com/), and [@kyluxxury](http://kyluxxury.tumblr.com/) for the help, comments and encouragement!

“Stop that, sweet boy,” Hux says, and swats Kylo lightly on the nose. “Be good.”

Kylo whines and rubs his face into Hux’s pant leg, the heavy tweed coarse under his cheek. Hux’s knee digs into his jaw, and the fabric itches, but Hux is warm, familiar. He smells good, like citrus and spice, and Kylo turns, lets his other cheek drag slowly over Hux’s taut thigh. 

“Kylo, no,” Hux admonishes, disentangling his leg from Kylo’s grasp; Kylo whines again, loathe to let go. 

Hux shakes his head. 

“I’ll be home early tonight,” he says, and hooks two fingers under Kylo’s collar, pulls it forward until the leather digs into the back of Kylo’s neck. “I expect you to behave. Understand?”

The pull of the collar is straining his breath. His pulse is heavy in his ears. Kylo lolls out his tongue and pants, throat working, bitter saliva pooling in his mouth. 

“I said, do you understand?” Hux repeats and tugs on the collar again, sharp enough that Kylo’s knees slide forward on the hardwood floor and he struggles to keep his posture. Hux is waiting for a response, fingers twitching lightly against Kylo’s throat. He can’t nod, oughtn’t speak; not now, not without permission. He licks at his wet lips and glances up at Hux’s face, the soft mouth and narrow cheeks and the flicker of pale, almost colorless lashes. Hux’s eyes are a cool, stormy green. Kylo quickly looks back down, at the polished floor, at the toe caps of Hux’s derby shoes, and lets out a soft, obedient whimper. 

The pressure on his collar is gone; Hux removes his hand, brings it up to ruffle the top of Kylo’s hair. 

“Good,” he says, continuing to pet him gently, fingers brushing through the soft, freshly washed strands. Kylo holds perfectly still, not permitting himself to lean into the caress. 

“Good boy, Kylo. Now, down on your elbows,” Hux instructs, and Kylo lowers himself, bracing his arms into the floorboards. Like this, on all fours, head down, ass raised up in the air, he feels particularly exposed, naked in a way he wasn’t just moments ago, and Hux knows it. The shoes move out of Kylo’s field of vision, goosebumps pricking his skin as Hux circles him. Kylo can sense him behind even before he feels the hand on his ass, squeezing lightly, fingers digging in. 

“Spread.”

Kylo quickly shuffles his thighs apart. His cock is hanging half-hard between his legs, his balls large and heavy, and now Hux can see, can touch with ease. He feels a cool finger slide between his ass cheeks, down to his hole, rubbing firmly over his rim in little circles.

“Keep your head down.”

Kylo arches his back a bit more, trying not to press back into the touch. The finger strokes down his crack, to his balls, tracing over the seam before Hux cups his cock, hand wrapping it tight, and gives it a few quick strokes. 

“There you go,” he coos, and Kylo can feel his dick firming up in Hux’s grasp. His hips push forward involuntarily, fattening cock seeking friction. He humps into Hux’s hand, once, twice, before stopping abruptly. Heat floods his face, but it is too late.

“Kylo,” Hux says, tone still gentle but clearly disapproving. The hand lets go. Kylo knows what’s coming and yelps almost preemptively, sound escaping his throat as the first swat lands on the underside of his cock, hard. Hux swats him again; the third slap, a little lighter, is on his balls, and Kylo jerks, biting his lip. The last two strike his ass; Kylo yelps again, whines, whimpers into the polished hardwood. 

“Keep still,” Hux tells him, and then his hands are back on Kylo’s ass, pulling him open, skimming at his asshole again, pushing, massaging. 

It feels good. It’s awful. His cock is fully hard, curving up towards his stomach. It had been easier to control himself when he’d first moved in, still unsure, still getting used to the terms, to what Hux liked, but it’s been almost conditioned into him now, this touch, soft, but firm. Nothing gets him harder faster than Hux’s fingers at his hole. Not even with the promise of a fuck -- there’s not enough time before Hux has to be at the office -- just petting like this, dry fingertips stroking at his entrance, circling, insistent, dipping in just a little bit. 

He can’t help another twitch of his hips, a slurp of precome wetting the head of his dick and smearing down as Hux’s fingertip pushes into his ass. Without lube, it stings a little; Kylo shivers, a whole body vibration, cock drooling more slick down onto the floor. He knows he shouldn’t press back into the finger, into Hux’s palm warm on his ass, knows he is meant to keep still, meant to take whatever Hux chooses to give him, but Hux won’t be mad, not really. 

After all, if he were perfect, Hux wouldn’t be able to punish him.

Kylo moans, grinds back into Hux’s hand, wills himself to relax so Hux can fill him up deeper. Fuck, he wants this, wants to be stretched and opened, wants another finger. He rocks his ass, his hips, whines desperately as Hux keeps stroking him with just the one finger, barely in to the knuckle. 

“Needy,” Hux says behind him, “slutty, filthy boy. On your hands and knees, ass up in the air for me, and you just can’t get enough, can you. I know you can behave yourself, puppy. Do you want me to get your cage? Get your cock locked up again, is that what you need?”

Kylo breathes in sharply, dips his head closer down to the floor. Hux’s voice goes smooth and low, almost sweet, as he talks about the cock cage; he likes Kylo in it, fitting its halves over Kylo’s softened cock. He likes running his hand over Kylo’s trapped sac, his length, encircled by the metal rings, teasing the exposed tip with his fingertips until Kylo can’t take it, cock filling up and then painfully forced soft. The cage’s restrictive weight feels claustrophobic around him, the heaviest ring pressing at the base of his balls, the metal warmed up by his body. 

He doesn’t want the cage, wants Hux’s hand to move faster, to rub him everywhere inside. Wants the pressure of something, anything -- Hux’s leg, his shoes, his own fingers -- on his straining, throbbing cock. He isn’t allowed to tell Hux without permission, and so he whines again, a pitiful, pleading noise, even as Hux’s finger twists in his hole, stretching him, loosening him up.

“Speak,” Hux allows, and Kylo shakes his head, shapes the words without looking up from the floor. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll -- please, I’ll behave.”

“Hmm,” Hux says, continuing to slide his fingertip carefully in and out. “You’ve said that before, puppy. Show me.”

The finger slips free from his ass, leaving him clenching, empty. Hux’s hand travels down, his thumb skating over his flushed, sensitive sac, until his grip is back around Kylo’s dick, the pads of his fingers smearing through the sticky slime of fluid. Hux jacks him a few times, the precome coating his hand, making a wet noise as Hux strokes him. 

Kylo closes his eyes, steadies himself on the floor. He trembles, but it’s a small enough movement, insignificant enough that Hux doesn’t comment, just moves, the now-wet fingers back at his asshole. 

He can’t help a small _oh_ escaping his mouth as he is breached again, two fingers this time; Hux presses them in deep and spreads them apart, scissors them like he’s getting Kylo ready for his dick. 

He imagines what it must look like, his ass open and presented to Hux, like he is the creature Hux wants him to be, a dog, a bitch, a good puppy, a slutty sweet boy. Like he is in heat, aching to be taken, to be filled up, his hole smeared wet with his own slick, swollen and deep red already, taut from the strain, clinging to Hux’s knuckles. He keeps himself as still, as quiet as he can as Hux speeds up, fucks his fingers in and out of him, hard and purposeful.

Kylo is tense all over, hands scraping uselessly over the smooth floorboards. He can feel the flush spreading down his face, his neck, into his already overheated chest. He could come like this, he thinks, if Hux would let him, breathing shakily as his hole gives way, stretches out around Hux’s fingers. All his focus narrows to the deep burn inside him, to keeping his disobedient body silent and unmoving. He lets his nails claw minutely into the wood underneath, lets his mouth loll open, spit gathering embarrassingly in the corner of his lips. 

He is almost ready to beg when Hux stops abruptly. Cold air hits Kylo’s ass as he withdraws, comes back around. 

“Look at me.”

He looks up and is presented with Hux’s hand at his mouth, fingers outstretched. Hux’s voice is calm, gathered, like he hasn’t just brought Kylo almost to the edge and left him there, tight, overwrought and helpless, like a bowstring ready to snap.

“Lick.”

His cheeks burn. He opens his mouth wider, and licks at Hux’s hand, sucks each fingertip between his lips before laving them with his tongue. The taste is sharp, metallic -- his own sweat, his own taste that he cleans off Hux’s hand until Hux is satisfied. 

“Good pup. Good boy. There you are,” Hux says, and pats him softly on his head, hand running affectionately through Kylo’s thick hair. 

Kylo is unprepared for the sharp ache, his head snapping up as Hux gathers up his hair in his fist and pulls.

“You _will_ behave yourself until I’m back. Keep your hands off yourself, hmm?”

Hux’s voice goes soft again. He lets go of Kylo’s hair and gives him another little pat on the head before he leaves. Kylo stays in the position, back arched, chest heaving, elbows on the floor, looking at Hux’s retreating back until the door shuts. He gives it another count of a minute after he hears the lock click, in case Hux needs to come back in for any reason before standing up, body a little stiff, stretching uncomfortably. 

The tense buzz of arousal still winds through his guts, but it’s less urgent now, receding. Kylo cracks his back and neck with a satisfying snap, and stands still for a moment, taking stock. He’s had a bit of breakfast already, a few bites of bacon, of toast, pieces of pear and cantaloupe fed from Hux’s hand as he crouched in his spot by Hux’s chair. He could stand to have more, and maybe some coffee; the pot in the kitchen should still be hot enough without having to brew a fresh one. He’s still mostly clean, bathed earlier; his hair could probably use another quick brushing, and he needs to get dressed, or turn up the thermostat, or both. 

His cock is still uncomfortably hard against his thigh, but he’s not permitted to do anything about that. Hux wouldn’t know if he did; _home early_ still means _not for hours_ , and Kylo runs a thumb down his length, traces the thick, darkened head, swipes the pad of a finger over the slit, another little bead of precome rubbing into the skin. He shivers. 

He’s not allowed. Hux wouldn’t know, of course, but it is in the contract he’d drawn up -- _non-enforceable, of course, not in any legal manner_ Hux had said, sliding it over for him to peruse and sign. _However, I need you to know, and agree to, everything this entails, before we can start_. 

Hux, telling him when he could touch himself. If he could come. 

_Two-thirds of the money, up front_ , Kylo had argued after reading over the first two pages -- orgasm control, muzzle, collars, grooming, a crate, time on-call. _And it would be easier if I stayed here; my classes are mostly online, I only have the one seminar_.

 _Half up front_ , Hux had countered, ever the lawyer. _And you’re right; that’ll be the most convenient. I’ll have a bedroom prepared_. 

Hux wouldn’t know for sure. But he’d guess, Kylo thinks, gripping the base of his dick tightly, aching to do more than this, something other than wait. 

He sighs. Takes his hand off his cock, inhales deep, waits for the heat to leave his face, for his pulse to calm, and heads to his bedroom for a clean shirt and a pair of soft fleece pants. He sits down on the bed to pull them on, disturbing the unslept-in blankets. According to the contract, he has this bed, this room with its own en suite bath, his things, the closet full of his clothes, but he often spends the night in his other bed, the one in the master bedroom, on the floor by the window. It’s a big one -- maybe Hux had it custom made, or maybe they sell them, huge fluffy things meant for something like a Saint Bernard, or a Great Dane. Kylo fits, but only just. 

It was strange, at first. Kylo did his best to sniffle and whine, crouched with his hands on Hux’s own bed, climbed on top of his blankets, nuzzled into his side, bumping his head into Hux's palm, but Hux wouldn't let him stay. 

“No, Kylo. Go to your bed,” he said, nudging him lightly at first, then harder, pulling at his collar when Kylo didn’t obey. 

He still doesn't know whether Hux meant his bed that first time, the properly made up one in the room down the hall, or the dog bed on the floor. The rules say he should have asked; should have used one of their words, gotten clarification, but Kylo didn't, opting, finally, for obedience. He crawled across the plush carpet and onto the dog bed, curling up with his cheek pillowed on his hands. When he woke up some hours later, the sky was greying outside the large window, and he was covered with a soft, light blanket that smelled like Hux.

After he’s dressed, Kylo downs a mug of coffee, black, pours another, this one with milk and sugar. He scrambles eggs, crumbles the rest of the bacon left over from earlier into the small pan, and grabs the rest of the cut up melon from the fridge. He sits at the island, unlike earlier, and uses one of the regular plates, a glazed dark blue, and a fork from the drawer. He has other dishes as well, painted with paw prints, for when Hux isn’t in the mood to feed him by hand, and a stainless steel bowl for water he has to struggle to lap from. None are out on the floor right now; Hux usually prefers to feed Kylo at his knee, unless he’s being punished. 

After breakfast, he brings his laptop over to the armchair by the window, and logs on to Blackboard to turn in a paper and take a Stats quiz. The paper isn’t Kylo’s best work. He could have started it earlier, outlined, pre-planned, instead of ignoring the looming due date and then finally asking Hux if he could move his scheduled day off from Wednesday to Thursday so he could write through most of the night. He’s barely edited the text, concerned mostly with word count. Still, he’s fairly certain that he’s aced the quiz; all his test scores have improved since he’s switched to mostly online classes, doing all of his work locked in Hux’s airy, comfortable study, headphones in, rather than sandwiched into a buzzing lecture hall. 

He hadn't known how freeing it could be, how good it could feel, not to have to talk to anyone. There are days where the only person he speaks to is Hux, and sometimes it's only a few words, before the muzzle is strapped around his face: _Color?_ \-- _Green_ , _How does that feel?_ \-- _Good_ , _Are you going to be my perfect boy?_ \-- _Yes_. 

Hux had been reluctant with the muzzle, at first, though after the brief negotiation of pay, Kylo had signed without asking for any further changes. He’d been gagged before, both with proper gags and improvised ones; one very strange and memorable time, a girl had shoved her panties between his teeth, had told him to bite down and hold tight. The muzzle isn’t all that different from a particularly restrictive gag, a thick strap around his jaw, a loop at the bottom with a metal ring to fix to his collar. Another swatch of heavy leather that goes over the top of his head, split in front to make room for his nose, and connecting to his collar in the back. It doesn’t restrict his vision, but muzzled, Kylo finds his concentration drawn in, centered around the straps pulled and buckled tight, the rubber bit, slick with his spit, pushing into the roof of his mouth. Hux, who may release him -- or not, as he sees fit. It’s nice, not to have to think about anything else. 

It’s still raining by the time Kylo is done with schoolwork, so he spends some time on the treadmill instead of his usual run, and follows it up with push-ups and crunches. Exercise isn’t explicitly described in the contract, but he doesn’t need it to be; the repetition of movement, his body bending and flexing as if by rote is its own sort of freeing comfort, one he wouldn’t trade for anything else. Having worked up a sweat, he’s considering whether to hop in the shower when his phone buzzes with an incoming text, and quickly rings before he’s even had the chance to read it. 

Only one person ever calls this number. Kylo swipes at the screen, shoves the phone up, trapped between cheek and shoulder. 

“You can take the evening off. Not a swap, you can just have it. I won’t be in until -- I don’t know,” Hux says. He sounds harried, swallowing his word endings just a bit as opposed to his usual sharpness.

“Everything OK?” Kylo asks; on the other end, Hux lets out a long sigh.

“Nothing I can’t handle, but it’s going to be damage control for the rest of the day and probably tomorrow. I -- oh, it doesn’t matter.”

“Are you going to be hungry?” 

Dinner isn’t usually Kylo’s responsibility, beyond adding his requests to the grocery delivery, or taking care of himself when Hux is out, but it feels like the thing to ask. It wouldn’t be strange to pick something up, or make something, leave it for Hux on the polished counter, a small nice thing to cap off his suddenly stressful night.

“I’ll eat,” Hux tells him. “Oh, for the love of -- I have to go take care of this. Have a good evening, Kylo.”

Kylo thinks about it as he stands under the shower spray, the warm water sluicing down over his shoulders. What to do with his suddenly free evening while Hux works. He could go out; could call Phasma, he hasn’t seen her in weeks. He could do the smart thing, get ahead on his Research Methods project, read the next chapter of the Martin text. 

He could, he considers, swiping the washcloth over his chest, do neither. Could dry off, pull his hair back, buckle the collar back around his neck. Wait for Hux in his crate in the hallway. He’d thought it a dresser at first, the solid wood with the dark chestnut finish, but Hux had showed him the latches on the side, the vented back, the door, large enough for him to get in and stretch out. 

He turns off the water, pulls the towel off the heated rack but stops with it halfway to his hair. Droplets of water trickle over his forehead. Kylo stares at his discarded clothes, at the collar set on the sink, and hangs the towel back up.

It’s considerate of Hux, to give him the time off, but a good dog would stay, would wait patiently for him to arrive, no matter how long it took. Would come when called, would bump up into Hux’s hands, lick gratefully at his fingers, curl up next to him, soft and warm and ready to take his tension away, just like the real thing. 

There’s a reason Hux doesn’t have the real thing, Kylo thinks, surveying himself in the mirror as he holds the collar up to his throat, but doesn’t put it back on. Calm obedience is not what’s required, not what Hux wants or needs, no matter the instructions he doles out.

Hux’s bedroom is immaculately neat, except for the few rubber toys on the floor by the dog bed. Kylo ignores it in favor of Hux’s own bed, spreads his naked, wet body over the covers, pulling the bedspread loose as he goes. A pillow goes tumbling to the floor, then another, the pillowcase snagging on the metal bed frame with a small fragile sound. 

The sheets smell like Hux’s hypoallergenic detergent, like his clean soap and spicy cologne. Kylo rolls his head back and forth, feels the water dripping from his hair, leeching into the smooth cotton. They feel good, these small acts of destruction; he kicks at the mattress more for the pleasure of it than adding to the mess. 

This, laying in Hux’s bed, undoing the covers, tracking dampness all over the clean sheets, is enough to get him punished, especially if he allows himself to be found here, stripped and without his collar. Hux might leash him up, might bend him over right there, spank him with his belt or his hands, maybe the large paddle from the drawer. 

His dick twitches between his thighs. Kylo runs a hand over his chest, fingers closing over a nipple, pinching it, pulling at it until it stings. He sighs softly and moves to the other, tweaking at the skin, feeling it pebble up tight. It feels good, the thick almost-hurt. Hux likes playing with Kylo’s nipples like this, rubbing and squeezing until they’re dark red, swollen, until Kylo can’t help but whine softly into his muzzle. Maybe he’ll tease them taut and clip the clamps on, press them tight, the thin chain connecting them across his sternum. Make Kylo wear the clamps until he begs for forgiveness. Not with words, muzzled and silenced, but with his whole body, face to the floor, chest and shoulders down, contrite, submitting. 

He is fully hard, his cock flushed dark, the head slick. He sucks in a shivery breath, trailing his fingers down his stomach, to the neatly groomed, trimmed hair at the base. Hux said he is not allowed, but Hux wouldn’t know for sure, he thinks, closing his fist around himself, the thin, silky skin pulsing hot. Not unless Kylo made certain he knew. 

Kylo rubs his thumb over his slit, feels more precome ooze out under the pressure, and starts jerking himself in short, tight strokes. His dick throbs against his palm. He moves faster, knuckles bumping up over the head, smacking wetly into his thighs each time his hand comes down. He squeezes the muscles of his ass, lifts his hips up from the bed as he pushes his dick into the hot clench of his fist. It’s almost too much, the friction and the grip, the way he’s wanted to do this all day but kept denying himself; he can feel his balls swelling, already twitching with the impending rush of orgasm. He tenses all over, the fingers of his free hand flexing and clawing into the covers, and comes into his fist, hot strings of spunk making a mess of his fingers, his wrist, smearing into the creases of his palm. The smell of it hits his nostrils, a briny salty-sweet. 

Kylo catches his breath, the intensity fading, winding down, and rolls over, ruts his softening cock into the bedcovers, leaving traces of come on the cloth. He wipes his messy hand on the sheet by the headboard, spreading out an unmistakable stain, impossible for Hux to miss. He reaches for one of the errant pillows, intending to finish cleaning off his hand on the pillowcase when he sees the snag in the cotton, the pulled threads from where it had caught on the headboard. 

Hux will be livid, he thinks, as he pushes his fingers through the gap in the threads, and rips. The pillowcase gives way easily; Kylo tears into it until it’s a mess of ragged strips, edges uneven and frayed as if by canine teeth. He scatters a few on the bedroom floor, then moves to the foyer, depositing them along the way. He surveys his handiwork briefly, satisfied, before retreating back to the hallway. He loops the remaining torn cloth around his hand before he folds himself inside of the crate there.

The wait is rather long; Kylo dozes for a while on the soft, padded floor of the crate, knees drawn up to his chest. There is no clock in the hallway; on the occasions when Hux locks him into the crate, he’s not allowed to know just how many minutes have elapsed, how much time is left until he’s finally released. Hux always times it himself, has never kept him trapped for longer than Kylo can take. By the time he’s moving nervously, hands on the bars, needing to stand, needing to stretch out to full height, needing to come out of the enclosed space, Hux inevitably appears, ready to undo the latch. 

He isn’t locked in when he waits for Hux’s arrival like this. Kylo is fairly certain this is a practice Hux has gotten from a real dog-training manual, training normally used to ensure the owner isn’t bowled over by a face-full of overeager pet the second he steps through the door. Kylo doesn’t mind, though it _is_ strange, this blend of hired pet, submissive and lover that he is to Hux. He wonders sometimes how Hux had decided upon the idea in the first place. If, after the term of the contract is up, Hux will want to renew. If he’s done what Hux needs well enough, if Hux will have enjoyed it. He supposes he’ll find out, he thinks as the key scrapes in the front door.

Light slivers into the crate as Hux thumbs the switch; Kylo hears the jingle and clack of keys as Hux puts them into their decorative bowl. The closet door opens and shuts, Hux hanging up his coat, and then the footsteps come closer, closer, closer still. 

The first fabric scraps on the floor; he must have seen them by now. 

Kylo tenses as Hux bypasses the crate and follows the trail of scraps down the hallway, through the living room and into the master bedroom. The footsteps fade, then stop, not resuming for some time. For a long, agonizing moment, Kylo thinks he’s miscalculated. That all Hux wanted was a simple, quiet night after his whirlwind of a day; not this, dealing with Kylo, picking up his mess. He is almost ready to get out of the crate when the footsteps come back, Hux coming closer again. 

The door of the crate snaps open. 

“Kylo. Come out of there.”

Kylo looks up. In the square of light, Hux looms large, a dark, solid shadow. His sleeves are neatly rolled up to the elbow, the top buttons of his collar undone, tie gone. Kylo’s collar, with the leash clipped on already, is clasped in his hands. He licks his lips, a quick, reflexive movement. 

“Kylo,” Hux repeats, the strap of the leash tapping against his knee. “To me. Right now.”

Kylo allows himself to meet Hux’s eyes, testing, tentative, then lowers his head, pushes himself up on his elbows. 

“Now,” Hux snaps, and there it is, the greedy rage, barely contained. Kylo shrinks down into the safety of the crate, face almost to the padded floor, shoulders low, and whines, distressed and pathetic. 

Hands are on his throat almost in an instant, stifling the sound. Hux reaches into the crate, winding open the collar as he goes; it’s slipped around Kylo’s neck and buckled on before he has a chance to react. Hux wraps the leash over his wrist until there’s barely any slack; his other arm hoists under Kylo’s armpit, and then he is being pulled forward, dragged out of the crate, struggling for breath as the leash strains at his neck. 

Or, he would be struggling, Kylo supposes, if he didn’t let himself be forced out of the cage. Hux isn’t weak, but Kylo is stronger; were he to resist, truly resist, beyond the token protest he puts up, Hux would not be able to subdue him, to move him, as he now does.

“Dreadful beast,” Hux grits. “Filthy, disobedient.” He loosens the leash, allowing Kylo just enough room to go to hands and knees again, as long as he stays close, cheek almost brushing Hux’s pant leg. 

“Heel,” Hux orders, and pulls sharply on the leash. “Follow.”

Kylo lets Hux half-drag, half-guide him down the hall, the hard floor painful against his knees and forearms. He resists more the closer they get to the bedroom, scrapes his hands over the floorboards, grabs at a doorjamb, a chair leg. The bedroom is carpeted; as they cross the threshold, Kylo pulls on the leash, digs his heels in so hard he’ll probably have rug burn tomorrow.

“Nasty, insolent thing,” Hux says, winding the leash back, and Kylo howls as the strap hits his arms, his back, catches on his shoulder. It hurts; Hux does it again, the middle of the strap pulled taut in his hand, the looped end cracking over Kylo’s shoulder blades, the nape of his neck. Hux hits him with no pattern, no measure or pulling of blows, and keeps striking until Kylo’s howls turn to a miserable little whimper.

“Move,” Hux says, hands clasping around Kylo’s upper arms before he can obey the command. He goes as Hux pulls him towards the bed, and takes in the mess, the still damp sheets, the crumpled bedspread. Hux maneuvers him until he is on his knees against the mattress, lets him look a moment before shoving his face down into the bedspread, hard. 

The cloth under his cheek is stiff, crusted; the stain still smells like his release. 

“Disgusting,” Hux hisses above him. His hand lands heavy on the back of Kylo’s head and digs in, mashes his nose and mouth into the chalky, salty mess.

“In my bed, horrible, awful boy. Does that feel good? Was it worth it?”

When Kylo whimpers again, Hux pulls his hand back.

“Stay. Don’t even think about moving,” he instructs; Kylo can hear him moving behind him, the slide of a drawer, the snap of it being shut. 

The kick at his ankle is unexpected; Kylo gasps, muffled into the mattress.

“Spread,” Hux orders impatiently; Kylo obeys as quickly as he can, shuffling his knees and thighs apart, and is rewarded by a brief, warm touch to his ass, Hux’s fingers quickly caressing his flank before snaking around to his front.

“Disgusting,” he says again as he wraps his fingers around Kylo’s cock. Kylo isn’t fully hard, but he is getting there, helped along by his stinging shoulders, his come on Hux’s formerly pristine bed, Hux’s derisive voice and soft touch. Hux lets go of Kylo’s cock and drops his hand lower, clasping firmly over Kylo’s balls. 

“What, you think this is for your pleasure?” Hux says, vicious, right into his ear. “Disobedient worthless animal, can’t keep your slutty cock under control.”

He twists his hand, squeezing Kylo’s sac tightly until it aches, then slaps it with an open palm, slaps again, lands another blow on his shaft. 

“None of that. Should have locked you up first thing this morning, but better late than never. Hold still.”

The cold metal slides over Kylo’s cock; Hux tugs at his sac again, lifts it up and guides it through, then snaps the ring shut. The rest of the cage follows, trapping his softening cock inside. Hux hefts the entire contraption in his hand, as if testing its weight. 

“Turn around. Face me.”

Face burning, Kylo turns, watches as Hux hooks the lock onto the cage, preventing him from getting it open. 

“That’s better,” Hux says. He doesn’t sound angry or impatient anymore; instead, his voice has gained a softer, sweeter quality. He slides his hand over Kylo’s caged cock, rubs his thumb around the exposed tip, presses down onto the slit.

“Get up on the bed, puppy,” Hux says, and begins undoing his clothes. 

Kylo climbs up onto the bed, settles on his back, legs apart, knows Hux likes to see his cock, ringed and locked, kept soft by the cage no matter what Hux does to him. It doesn’t make him like it, doesn’t make him want it, to be restrained like this, but it’s exactly what Hux wanted, it’ll make Hux feel good, and Kylo does his best to relax, licks his lips, fists his hands into the bedclothes.

Stripped, Hux fetches the bottle of lube from the side table, and settles on the bed in front of him.

“Should have plugged you up, too, puppy,” he says wistfully, slicking his fingers up. “But you don’t need much to open you up again, do you?” 

He rubs his thumb against his index finger a moment, the lube glistening between them, then presses the pad of his finger up to Kylo’s hole. He circles it softly, making Kylo shiver.

“You still think you’re going to enjoy this, dreadful boy. Think I’m done punishing you. Think I’m going to get you stretched, nice and wet and ready for me.” He lines up his middle finger alongside his index finger and pats at Kylo’s rim, rubs over it until Kylo feels it sparking in his belly, feels his cock pulse, press painfully against the cage.

Hux laughs, and pushes his fingers none too gently into Kylo’s hole. 

Even with the lube, it immediately feels like too much; Kylo’s body clenches down, pushes, trying to expel the uncomfortable ache. Hux scissors his fingers without pause, rough and fast, and Kylo moans, bites down on his lip at the burn.

Hux draws his fingers in and out of him a few more times before he withdraws. It’s not enough; Kylo shivers again as he watches Hux slick himself with the remains of the lube.

“Roll over,” Hux says, and waits for Kylo to obey. “Now get on your hands and knees, puppy.”

Kylo hauls himself up onto his knees, presses his palms into the mattress as he turns around. He pushes his ass out towards Hux, obedient, and then the head of Hux’s cock is nudging, too large, too blunt, too thick, up into his hole.

Kylo whines as he is breached, the miserable noise completely unfeigned. Hux gives him no time to adjust, snaps his hips, sliding home in one deliberate, heavy push.

“It hurts, doesn’t it,” Hux says; there’s a squelch of lube, of precome, as he pulls back and slams back in, making Kylo take it hard as he digs his fingers into Kylo’s hips. “You can tell me. Speak. It hurts.”

“Hurts,” Kylo echoes with a wet inhale; it does, it does, and he turns his head, watches Hux’s mouth crook up in satisfaction, feels his face, his chest, his entire torso get uncomfortably hot and red. “Hurts,” he repeats, pulse racing, throbbing in his ears. “Just for you.”

Hux meets his eyes, that greedy, angry craving back on his face; he unsticks his hand from Kylo’s hip and feels for his leash, wraps the loop around his fingers and pulls, straining at Kylo’s neck. Kylo turns his face back towards the headboard; Hux angles his hips mercilessly, thrusting deep, making Kylo yelp pitifully into the mattress.

His ass feels too hot, stretched open on Hux’s dick, his caged cock and balls just this side of painful. He wonders if Hux can feel it like he can, can sense how his cock pumps up, twitching pathetically in its metal confines, can sense how raw Kylo is everywhere inside, from throat to chest to stomach, the carpet burn on his knees and elbows, the taut pull of the leash making his breath come in ragged gasps. A short, choked up grunt fights up from his chest as Hux speeds up, the heavy slap of skin on skin almost deafening. Hux pulls on his leash again as he comes, his spunk flooding into Kylo, coating his insides sticky and hot. Kylo takes it all, Hux’s hips flush against his ass; he can feel Hux’s full body shudder, the last few pulses of his cock inside.

He puts his face back down into the blankets as Hux pulls out. He is aching all over, and a thick wet trickle of come is leaking out of him, sliming up his thigh, but Kylo holds stock still, waits for Hux to say something, to approve, disapprove, before he can do anything else. The mattress dips as Hux stands. He is back in a few moments, a cool, wet cloth pressing to Kylo’s puffy, used hole, cleaning him up, then a swipe of some sort of ointment over his sore rim.

Kylo sighs gratefully as Hux tends to him. It doesn’t feel good, exactly; the cold press of the towel is relieving, but it stings a bit all the same, and the greasy ointment makes his ass feel even messier. But it’s Hux’s other hand, wrapped around his hip and holding him steady, the thumb reflexively rubbing over his hipbone, soothing, that makes it better, lets him know he’s done well, done exactly what Hux had wanted, without being told. 

That Hux is pleased.

Kylo rumbles deep in his chest, then whines just a little, an acquiescing, submissive sound, and rolls over without being asked once Hux is done with his ass. He lifts his hips up, presenting his restrained cock; Hux nudges the cage with a careful finger, traces its metal shape without touching Kylo’s skin.

He doesn’t produce the key.

Kylo blinks up at him, brows furrowed. He is about to break the rule, to speak without permission, or before they’re done, but Hux preempts him.

“I like you like this, Kylo,” he says, still teasing at the cage’s rings. Kylo huffs, and ruts up into the air a little, but Hux doesn’t relent. “I’m going to keep you locked up until tomorrow. We’ll see if you’ve learned your lesson by then.” 

He stands, discards the soiled washcloth into the laundry hamper. When he speaks again, his tone has changed. It’s not quite the strained, harried voice he had used earlier on the phone, but neither is it the soft, gentle tone with which he’d delivered Kylo’s scolding. 

“Now, I still have some work to finish up. I shouldn’t need anything else from you tonight, Kylo.” 

It’s not unusual for Hux to dismiss him for the night. As he carefully climbs down from the bed, Kylo isn’t sure whether he’d been expecting anything else, but it feels strange, impossible to go back to his room now. To pretend he’s himself, Kylo, a regular person. Not with the rolling, deep ache in his ass, the heavy grasp of the cage on his throbbing dick. The collar around his neck, that Hux still hasn’t removed, either.

He pauses on the carpeted floor, bracing his arm on the bed as if to stand, then puts it back down. Crawls, still on all fours, over to the dog bed by the window, and curls up on its soft, familiar surface. Through lowered lashes, he sees Hux strip the bed, replace the sheets, gather up the pillows. Hux turns the light off as he leaves the bedroom, but leaves the door ajar, fractured light wavering through.

Kylo takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes. 

He wakes to the heavy press of a body up against his back, the rush of air and flutter of cloth as a blanket is settled down over him. The room is fully dark now. Kylo lies still as Hux tucks the edges of the blanket around him, folds a corner under his shoulder. Kylo barely fits on the bed as is; there’s hardly any room left for another, but Hux doesn’t stand up, not right away. 

“Good boy. My good boy,” Hux whispers, and runs an affectionate hand through Kylo’s hair.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, [shame me here on tumblr](http://cracktheglasses.tumblr.com/).


End file.
